Thicker than Water
by Airara
Summary: When Harry Potter and Dudley Dursley are both revealed to have magic, Harry learns to accept and even love the one member of his family who understands the wonder and the pain of being a wizard in the Dursley household. How will things fall into place throughout their first year with new friends, new challenges, and the support the cousins give each other?
1. Prologue

Harry Potter had always known he was different. He knew it, his aunt and uncle knew it, his cousin knew it, and, no doubt, his drunkard parents had known it, too, before the car crash that had dropped their small, green-eyed son on his aunt's doorstep. Harry was different, and different was _bad_. So he never questioned why he lived in a cupboard while others lived in bedrooms, why he ate his tiny meals from a plate on the floor instead of the table, or why he was always picked on by his enormous uncle and his rapidly expanding cousin. There was no "why"; it simply was. It was the way it had always been, the way it always would be.

* * *

"Up! Get up!"

Seven-year-old Harry awoke rather unpleasantly that December morning to a loud screeching and rapping at the cupboard door. He sat up cautiously, wincing and rubbing at the sore, weeping welts on his back. _Not too bad, _he decided, just as the latch slid open from outside the door. _Better than they were, at least._ Pushing the now-unlocked door open, Harry ventured out into the hallway, which was almost blindingly bright after the darkness of the cupboard.

"Make breakfast," his aunt ordered, pointing to the kitchen unnecessarily. Did she think him stupid enough to try to make breakfast elsewhere? Harry refrained from rolling his eyes, not wanting to invite _another _punishment until his current one was healed.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

As always, the ingredients were laid out on the counter for him; his Aunt didnt want to risk him making something wrong, or simply something his spoiled cousin didn't happen to want that morning. _Of course, _Harry mused as he broke open an egg, _that doesn't mean I won't get punished if he changes his mind. _

A few minutes later, Harry heard a loud thundering noise, which either meant a herd of rabid elephants had invaded the house or Dudley was coming down the stairs. Harry almost laughed at the bizarre image of his cousin as an elephant, the piggy face plastered onto a large, leathery gray body. He pressed his lips together to hide his mirth as he filled two enormous plates with heaping servings of bacon and eggs and quickly grabbed some fruit and yoghurt for his aunt. The plates were on the table by the time the Dursleys arrived in the kitchen, and Harry turned his attention to scrubbing the food residue out of the pans, though he looked longingly at it as his stomach rumbled in protest. After they were clean, Harry quietly took a piece of bread for himself, and sat on the floor in the kitchen to devour it.

All in all, it was a normal morning in the Dursley household.

Harry had just put the last few crumbs in his mouth when he heard a shriek from the table, and he leapt to his feet. _What did I do,_ he asked himself frantically, before freezing in shock at the strange scene before him.

At first glance, everything appeared normal. Aunt Petunia had a piece of fruit speared elegantly on her fork, and Uncle Vernon was standing, his plate empty, as if he had just risen to leave the table.

Dudley Dursley looked the same as usual at first glance, too, grabbing greedily at a bowl. Then Harry blinked.

_He hadn't put a bowl on the table._

Upon closer examination, the bowl seemed to have the same pattern around the rim as the cup with Dudley's chocolate milk had. But the cup was gone, and the bowl was there, filled with what looked suspiciously like chocolate ice cream. Dudley's eyes were round with surprise and delight, but his parents looked horrified and outraged.

* * *

"No! No, no, no! I will _not_ have another one in the house, Vernon!"

"I know." The voice was terrifyingly sharp. Suddenly, it filled with tentative hope. "Any chance it was the freak?"

"I don't think so. It might run in families." Harry heard Aunt Petunia's voice catch, and he shared a concerned glance with his cousin, who was listening at the keyhole. Oddly enough, they seemed to agree on this, at least, so they'd quickly and silently come to an agreement; no fighting until they figured the situation out. A _very temporary _truce.

"What are we going to do?" Aunt Petunia was speaking again, but this time, her voice was colder, harder. A shiver ran down Harry's spine; he'd never heard his Aunt sound like that.

"You know there's only one thing we _can _do, Pet. Their kind need a heavy hand. We have to crush that- that _abnormality _out of him." Harry glanced up at his cousin, who'd gone unnaturally pale at that, and felt a pang of protectiveness. He stood up from where he'd been listening at the crack at the bottom of the door - his cousin had gotten the keyhole, if only by virtue of being taller - and motioned Dudley to follow him. Once they were a safe distance away, Harry spoke, hissing softly to his trembling cousin.

"Go up to your room," he said, eyeing the door warily. "I'll distract him, he'll forget he's mad at you." Dudley looked at him in shock, but obeyed, creeping quietly up the stairs. Once the larger boy was safely in his bedroom, Harry grabbed a small snow globe off the mantle - Aunt Petunia's favorite - and dropped it, the shattering noise audible across the house.

Almost instantly, his Uncle flew through the door, his face purpling with rage at the sight of his nephew and the incriminating glass and water on the ground. He bellowed, grabbing the boy, and shoved him into the shards of glass, forcing a cry from Harry's throat as blood began to trickle from the cuts. Moments after, the belt landed on Harry's back, and he no longer had the strength to think rationally about the situation.

Finally, it ended, and the small boy was thrown bodily into the cupboard under the stairs. He listened through a haze of agony as his Uncle complained about how the freak got blood on his shirt, and eventually, the door closed and Harry heard the car drive away.

Before he passed out, he heard quiet footsteps come down the stairs, and the cupboard door opened. Dudley clambered awkwardly in to sit by his cousin, uncertainty and fear flickering in his eyes. The two boys simply watched each other, weary and wary, suddenly united in their fear of the bellowing monster who ran Number Four, Privet Drive.

And just before the darkness overtook him, Harry Potter took Dudley Dursley's hand, and the power hidden inside them recognized their bond for the first time.

Yes, Harry was different. But on that one exceedingly strange day at the Dursley residence, he learned that he was not alone.


	2. Chapter 1 - Letters

Life at Number 4, Privet Drive changed dramatically over the next few years. The two boys had bonded over whispered conversations from opposite sides of the cupboard door, and ever since the Day of the Ice Cream Incident (as Dudley had dubbed it within hours), the love and favoritism the Dursleys showed to their son had almost vanished.

Dudley knew that he was very, very lucky. Harry was selfless, forgiving, and the best friend he could have asked for. He never even held a grudge for how his cousin had treated him in the past, never mind the obvious discrepancies in the treatment of the two boys. Dudley had a bedroom (the one that used to be filled with his broken toys), while Harry had a cupboard; he just smiled and reassured his cousin that he was smaller and so it was fine. Dudley was given food regularly, while Harry was lucky to eat more than twice in a week; Harry insisted that he was used to it and that Dudley needed the food more.

More than anything, it was the beatings that showed Harry's love for him. Dudley watched in fascinated horror as a pattern emerged; when the larger boy managed to incur his father's wrath, Harry would find a way to make it his fault, or anger the man enough that he forgot the original problem and took out his frustration on the small, selfless boy.

Harry Potter and Dudley Dursley were brothers in all but blood. That bond carried them through the years of abuse, until the summer when Harry turned eleven and their lives went through yet another change.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall _hated_ overseeing the letters to be sent out to the First Years. Oh, not the actual process of giving them to the Muggleborns and explaining their world; just the endless scribbling of a charmed quill, writing addresses over and over again. So impersonal, so _completely _and _utterly _boring. As Deputy Headmistress, it was her job to ensure that all the letters were sent out and received, but she absolutely despised this part of the task.

She glared at the ever-growing stacks of letters as they were magically sorted into piles. _Muggleborn, Muggleborn, Wizard-born..._ A knock at the door distracted her, and she stood, crossing the room to open it.

"Albus? What did you need?"

The Headmaster just twinkled at her, offering her a lemon drop from his ever-present tin. "Why, Minerva, we're all waiting on you. Have you seen the time?"

_Right. Staff meeting. _Minerva closed her eyes for a moment, silently berating herself for letting the time get away from her. "Of course. My apologies, Albus, I was just a bit busy. Let's head down, then, shall we?" _Even a staff meeting can't possibly be as boring as letter-watching, I suppose. _She swept from her office as elegantly as she could, leaving the automatic quill to do its work - it couldn't hurt to leave it for a while.

A few minutes later, she found herself seated between Septima and Filius, having to listen to Poppy's yearly campaign for a healthier menu. Only Pomona seemed to be listening and contributing to the discussion; Severus already impressed the importance of eating healthy to his Slytherins, and honestly, the others just didn't see it as an issue. It wasn't as if the students were morbidly obese! Minerva suppressed a snort as the Headmaster began offering his sweets down the table, making the medi-witch splutter with indignation.

"Albus! You should be setting an example, it's not healthy to-"

"Thank you for your contribution, Poppy," Albus interjected, ignoring her protests. _Well, threatening his sweets is one way of ensuring an end to the discussion. _"I'll make some suggestions to the house-elves. Now, the next order of business. Minerva?"

"Thank you, Albus." She took a moment to gather her thoughts. "I have received confirmation from all the wizard-born children whose letters have been sent out except for two, but they were only sent yesterday, so I'm sure we'll have responses quickly. The last of the letters are just being written out, and then I should be able to start visiting the Muggleborns within the next day or two. All supply lists for the returning students have been sent out, and the Prefects have all accepted their positions, except for yours, Filius; Mr. Michaels declined in order to focus on his studies." No one was surprised - a Ravenclaw putting their schoolwork first was hardly something new - and the tiny Professor's brow furrowed as he tried to decide on a replacement.

"Thank you, Minerva. Severus?"

The dour Potions Master glared down the table. "I have restocked Poppy's Potion supplies, and thus have run short on porcupine quills, silverweed, and Unicorn horns. I'll have to hope that the Apothecary has decent-quality ingredients to replenish my stocks." He scowled, clearly disgusted at the thought of using sub-par supplies in his classes.

"Excellent! I'm certain you'll be able to find what you need before classes begin, my boy." Minerva almost laughed aloud; Severus looked like he'd swallowed a lemon. _Only you could call him 'my boy' and live to see another day, Albus. _

"Now, we have one more item to address." Now Albus looked serious, though his eyes still twinkled merrily. "Harry Potter will be attending Hogwarts this year."

The expressions down the table varied quite dramatically at this pronouncement. Quirinus sat bolt upright, looking even more shocked and fearful than usual; Filius nearly fell off his chair in delight; Sybill began muttering about tea leaves, sounding devastated; and Severus scowled as darkly as any at the table had ever seen. Minerva had already known, of course; she'd been waiting for the boy's first year for a long time. Even so, hearing it from the Headmaster made it feel much more real.

"Albus, that's really quite irrelevant, isn't it?" Poppy was one of the few who seemed calm at the pronouncement. "He shouldn't be treated any differently from the other students."

"Exactly," Severus hissed, his eyes glinting malevolently. "He'll get no special treatment here for his fame."

Muttering broke out at that, and Minerva was relieved when Albus called for order.

"Now, Severus," he began, focusing those twinkling eyes on the scowling man. "While we certainly can't spoil him, there are some inevitable consequences of his fame that will prevent us from treating him exactly like the other students. For example, we must take special care not to let the other students be distracted by the presence of such a celebrity."

Severus snorted at the description, but refrained from commenting.

"And h-h-how are we t-to ac-c-complish th-that?" Quirinus adjusted his turban nervously, talking mostly to a spot on the table as he trembled under the other Professors' stares.

Albus smiled kindly. "Simply try not to call attention to his status, and don't give either undue praise or criticism." There was some more quiet conversation, but as Severus seemed incapable of more than a frosty glare, the meeting was soon adjourned. Minerva stood, intending to give the Potions Master a piece of her mind. _How dare he judge the boy so harshly?_ Her lips thinned into a hard line, and she started toward him. _He may have had his problems with James, but that's no reason to-_

Her plans were cut short by Albus' sudden appearance at her shoulder. "Minerva, walk with me. I need to speak with you."

She reluctantly adjusted her path to accompany the old wizard. "What is it, Albus?"

"It's about young Harry. As it is almost certain that you'll be his Head of House, we should start thinking about how to-"

Minerva stopped and stared at him. "Albus, you can't possibly claim to know what House he'll be in." _What is he thinking?_

Albus didn't seem fazed. "His parents were both Gryffindors. It is nearly certain that Harry will follow in their footsteps."

"Follow in the footsteps of people he's hardly met?" Minerva turned and started walking again, shaking her head. "Besides that, I always thought Lily would have done well in Ravenclaw."

The Headmaster did not respond, and when Minerva turned to see, he had disappeared. She pursed her lips and returned to her office, thoughts turning to the piles of now-sorted letters waiting on her desk.

* * *

"Get up!"

Harry blinked blearily at the high-pitched screeching from outside the cupboard door.

"Now!"

He barely flinched as the bolt slammed open, and he hurriedly sat up on the mattress.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," he called, pulling a spider off his sock as he yanked it on. He placed the bug on the ground carefully, making sure not to damage the thin legs, and smiled almost fondly as it scurried into the shadows. He heard footsteps on the stairs as his Aunt headed up to wake Dudley, and took the opportunity to ease the cupboard door open and head to the kitchen.

Moments later, Harry was busy in front of the stove, frying a pan of bacon for his massive Uncle Vernon, and Dudley was quietly setting the table. Harry wrapped a few pieces of bacon in a napkin and hid them for later; he'd wait and see if his cousin got to eat before eating any himself, though his stomach gurgled in protest.

Dudley stepped back to stand next to Harry once breakfast was served to the adults of the house. Neither of them were told to eat, so they stayed silent, wary of triggering the permanently red-faced man's anger. Harry glanced up at Dudley and prodded him in the side; when he had his cousin's attention, he slipped the packet of bacon to him, grinning a bit cheekily. Dudley's eyes grew wide. He glared at Harry, obviously questioning as to whether the snaller boy had eaten, and when he received a sincere-looking nod, he backed away, anxious to get to a private place to devour his meager breakfast.

"Dudley, get the post."

"Yes, Father." Dudley started, but took the opportunity to leave the room. When he returned with a small stack of letters, he had a small bulge in his pocket from the wadded-up napkin that Harry had wrapped the bacon in. Dudley looked like he wanted to go through the letters before handing them over to his father, but was clearly wary of the greasy, tell-tale fingerprints that would surely cover the envelopes. Soon, the boys were back in their positions by the wall, and Harry winced guiltily at the look his cousin gave him when his stomach grumbled loudly.

It happened suddenly. One moment, Uncle Vernon was muttering absently about bills; then suddenly, his face went very pale, before rapidly changing to an alarming shade of puce.

"P-P-Pet- _Petunia!_"

Dudley stepped back, pulling his smaller cousin with him, and Harry clung to the larger boy in terror as his Uncle whirled around to face them. He shoved the letter at his wife and stalked toward the boys, grabbing his nephew roughly by the shoulders and yelling angrily about freaks. He dragged the unresisting boy into the next room, and soon the house rang with the sobs and screams that signaled a particularly awful beating; Harry rarely cried out from his Uncle's attacks, since it only served to egg the man on. Dudley gulped and accepted a list of chores from his mother, who completely ignored the pitiful cries and malicious laughter that floated through the rooms.

Finally, while Dudley was finishing the dishes, it ended, a loud _thud_ followed by the slamming of the cupboard door signaling the last of Harry's torment. Dudley shuddered as he heard his father complain loudly about having to change before work because 'the freak got blood on his clothes', and was only too glad when he heard the car drive away.

* * *

Harry couldn't stop shivering, despite the burning heat of his own blood as it trickled from his wounds. Through the agonized haze that permeated his mind, he started cataloging his injuries: dislocated shoulder, a couple of bruised or broken ribs, broken leg, maybe something wrong with his collarbone? It was hard to say exactly, but it really all added up to one word: _Ouch_. Harry tried to prod experimentally at one of his damaged ribs - not one of his best ideas, but in his half-delirious state, it seemed logical - and he hissed in pain. _Okay. No touching. _He shifted on the thin mattress, and gritted his teeth. _Maybe just no moving at all._

Licking his split, parched lips, he adjusted his position slightly, taking weight off the worst injuries. Harry's eyes fluttered closed, and he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

Minerva paused when she saw the address on the letter she was about to deliver. Why did _4 Privet Drive_ seem important to her? She couldn't figure out why, but it felt uncomfortably familiar. Putting those thoughts aside, she transfigured her robes into a simple Muggle skirt and blouse, professional but nondescript, and Apparated to the closest authorized location.

When she arrived, she froze in shock, taking in the familiar neighborhood. How could she have forgotten? The lines of houses, all exactly the same, brought back that night in terrifying clarity. _Number 4, Privet Drive..._ she certainly hadn't expected to return here.

Shaking her head slightly, Minerva approached the door and knocked. She couldn't help remembering the spoiled little boy she'd seen when she was observing the family; _that_ little terror, at Hogwarts? A horrifying thought, indeed.

The door opened suddenly, and she was faced with the tall, thin form of Petunia Dursley, who looked distinctly disgruntled at the intrusion.

"What?" she snapped, craning her neck as if to check that the neighbors weren't watching.

Minerva smiled, as pleasantly as she could. _Worst sort of Muggles. _"Good morning. My name is Minerva McGonagall, and I'm here to speak with you about Hogwarts School of Witch-"

She was cut off by loud _shh_ing noises as the woman glared waspishly at her. "Come in, then, before the neighbors see you!"

_Interesting. _Minerva's smile thinned a bit, but she did as requested, and watched in slight amusement as the woman hurriedly bolted the door and drew the curtains. Once that was done, they stared at each other in silence for a few moments.

"Could you call your son in, please?" Minerva was less than thrilled about having to meet the boy, but she didn't have much of a choice. _Merlin, I hope he's grown up to be less aggravating._ The woman looked less than pleased about the idea, but that was nothing compared to the sour look on her face when Minerva suggested that she bring her nephew as well.

"He's at a friend's house," Mrs. Dursley snapped irritably, before hurrying up the stairs to fetch her son.

A few minutes passed before slow, measured footsteps made their way down the stairs. Minerva sat up a bit straighter, fixing her sternest glare on...a child who looked _nothing_ like she expected.

The boy had obviously changed quite dramatically since his cousin had arrived; his eyes were calculating rather than greedy, he seemed wary of her, and he was of average weight. Minerva could barely keep herself from gaping in shock. _Things have obviously changed in this house._

As the silence stretched on, she forced herself to stop analyzing the boy and spoke.

"Mr. Dursley? It's nice to meet you. My name is Minerva McGonagall, and I'm the Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

There was a moment of disbelieving silence. Then:

"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England. Nice to meet you."

Minerva almost laughed. _Almost_. Instead, she transformed into a cat. She noted, with dry amusement, that Mrs. Dursley looked disgusted at the sight. _Not a cat lover, then. _She liked the woman less by the minute. She sniffed, a bit haughtily, and wrinkled her nose; the house smelled strongly of cleaner, and beneath that, something unpleasant that she couldn't identify.

Once they seemed sufficiently stunned, Minerva transformed back, and calmly regarded them, pushing the odd smell aside; she had much more important things to think about. "I'm here to inform you, Mr. Dursley, that you have a place at our school this coming year, if you choose to take it."

Dudley opened his mouth to reply, but his mother was faster.

"He's not going."

"Yes I am. Er- does Harry have a place, too?"

Minerva noted the furious glance Mrs. Dursley gave him at the mention of his cousin, filing the observation away in her mind for later.

"As a matter of fact, he does," she replied, choosing to ignore the boy's mother temporarily. "His name has been down to attend since before he was born. You won't be alone at school."

"He's not going! His father will never pay for it. Dudley's going to his father's old school. The uniform's already arrived."

Minerva smiled a bit. "Well, it seems we have a problem then, as any child who does not receive proper training must have their magic bound."

Dudley's dismayed cry was ignored by his mother, whose eyes were shining. "That can be done?" She looked as if Christmas had come early.

"It can," she said, a bit idly, watching as the boy's face fell. Then she gave him a small smile. "Of course, if young Mr. Dursley is particularly opposed to that option, there are alternatives."

It was almost amusing how quickly the boy and his mother swapped expressions; now Petunia looked devastated, while Dudley was nearly jumping for joy. _Very peculiar. _She couldn't help smiling a bit more widely as she talked about Hogwarts, magical guardians, and the school fund.

"Of course, the school fund is meant for students whose families truly can't afford their education, but if all else fails, it is certainly an option. However, if we go that route, your supplies will certainly need to be secondhand."

Dudley was nodding slowly, and Mrs. Dursley seemed to be getting angrier by the minute.

"Now see here, Mrs. MacGrongel-"

"McGonagall," her son interjected quietly.

"Whatever! You have no right to be filling my son's head with this- this nonsense!" She then rounded on her son. "Dudley Dursley, your father would be furious if he could hear you now, talking so openly about this unnaturalness!"

Minerva snorted softly, and to her surprise, so did the boy. Unfortunately, this looked like the beginnings of a _long_ family discussion, so she stood up to leave, pulling Dudley's acceptance letter out and handing it to him.

"I should leave and allow you to think about this before you make your decision. You can read through the material list and speak about it with your family tonight, and I'll return tomorrow to hear your response. Is that acceptable?"

The boy's head jerked up, alarm flashing in his eyes for a moment, before fading into a carefully neutral expression. "Ma'am, maybe you should wait until Harry gets home from his _friend's house_? I don't think I could explain it properly to him, so it's probably best if you do it."

Minerva watched him carefully. _Perfectly expressionless now, but I don't think I imagined that look. _ There was obviously an ulterior motive for having her stay, but what could it be? Narrowing her eyes slightly, she sat back down. "Perhaps that might be for the best," she conceded, inclining her head slightly. She didn't miss the relief flickering in Dudley's expression, but she gave him her usual sharp look, the '_I-know-you're-up-to-something-and-this-better-be-good_' look that worked so well on the Weasley twins and certain Slytherins. _At least I'll get a chance to see Mr. Potter again before I go._

* * *

Dudley squirmed slightly in the uncomfortable silence that had long since settled over the room. It was good that this McGonagall lady hadn't left, but what was he supposed to do now? _I have to find a way to make her realize about Harry. It's the only way. _He swallowed nervously. _If she leaves us alone after this, neither of us will _survive _to go to any magic school. _What was he supposed to do, though? She wouldn't wait forever, but she'd need a pretty good reason to stay much longer.

As he was thinking that, the Professor conjured up a tea set on the table between them. He blinked in surprise. _Well, that's one way to get her to stay a little longer, I guess. _His mother sniffed in the background, clearly unwilling to touch any food-_er, drink_- that had been 'contaminated' by magic.

"So, Mr. Dursley," she began briskly. "Do you and Mr. Potter get along well?"

"Erm, yeah," he replied immediately, caught a bit off guard. "We've been close for a few years, now." She seemed satisfied with that answer, so he pushed on. "How did you know his name, anyway? And that he lives here?"

She stopped and stared at him incredulously, setting down her teacup. "Mr. Dursley," she said slowly, "how much do you know about your aunt and uncle? Mr. Potter's parents?"

"Not much," he admitted. "Just that they died in a car crash when Harry was a baby."

Silence reigned. Dudley was a bit unnerved; why did Mrs. McGonagall look so horrified?

"A car crash," she repeated, closing her eyes. Then, she opened them again and fixed his mother with a cold, furious stare. "You told them it was a _car crash_? How could you? How could you keep that from them? Did you even tell Harry?"

"What really happened?" Dudley asked urgently, leaning forward a bit. The woman paled and looked away.

"I...I didn't expect this," she murmured. "I shouldn't tell this story, not without Mr. Potter here." Suddenly, she looked like she was holding back tears, in that brisk, stoic way that adults have. "It's a terrible tale, Mr. Dursley, and not one that I wish to tell twice."

_It must be pretty bad, then. _ "Yes, ma'am. Were they wizards, too?"

She smiled a bit at that. "They certainly were. Lily was one of the brightest witches of her age, and James was quite powerful, even if he was a troublemaker." She looked around, seeming a bit lost for a moment, then addressed Mrs. Dursley. "Do you know when your nephew might be home? It seems I have a long story to tell." The last part was said a bit pointedly. No answer seemed to be forthcoming, so she sat back with a bit of a huff.

Dudley just prayed that she'd figure it out, because his parents weren't likely to let either of them go unpunished for this.


	3. Chapter 2 - Discoveries

Minerva was beginning to get frustrated. Hours had passed, and Harry Potter was still nowhere to be found. Mr. Dursley still seemed to be trying to communicate entirely through pointed glances, and his mother refused to leave the room, casting disapproving glares on both of them. She had a vague suspicion that whatever the boy was trying to tell her was important, but she couldn't get that infernal woman to leave long enough to have a proper conversation. Part of her wanted to leave, but something - call it intuition, magic, whatever - was telling her that something was wrong in this house.

"So!" The boy seemed extremely uncomfortable now, but there was a calculating look in his eyes. "You can, um, turn into a cat." He flushed slightly, and Minerva smiled a bit.

"Yes, I can. It takes years of study to perfect the transformation, but I've found it worthwhile." Mrs. Dursley was busy glaring at her, so her son cast a frustrated glance her way. Minerva _knew_ this was going somewhere, so she continued, hoping she'd stumble upon what the boy was looking for. "It is a difficult art - one of the highest levels of Transfiguration, which I teach at Hogwarts. The form each person takes depends mainly on their personality, and physical traits can carry between the two forms."

"Like how your cat form had markings around its eyes? Because of your glasses?"

"Precisely." She smiled warmly at him.

"So, like, when you're still a person, do you have cat senses? Like, can you see in the dark and hear and smell really well?" He spoke a bit more slowly, raising his eyebrows almost imperceptibly. Minerva frowned thoughtfully, trying to decipher the meaning; then she sat up a bit straighter, listening intently, and drew in a long breath through her nose. Her hearing was a bit compromised by the infernal buzzing of electricity, but there was that odd smell that she'd noticed earlier, not as strong as in her Animagus form, but still there...

It took her a few moments to place it, but then she froze in horror.

_Blood._

* * *

Dudley watched in relief and satisfaction as shock, comprehension, and fury flashed across the woman's face. _She figured it out! _She stood suddenly, and there was a stick - _no, a _wand, he reminded himself - in her hand, pointing directly at his mother. He couldn't bring himself to feel anything but glee at the fear on her face in the face of the witch's spitting rage.

"What have you _done_," she hissed, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Where is the boy?"

His mother didn't look inclined to answer, so Dudley stood, motioning for the Professor to follow. She muttered something under her breath, and a beam of red light shot from the end of her wand, causing Mrs. Dursley to collapse. Dudley couldn't bring himself to feel anything but glee at the sight, and he grinned broadly as he started down the hallway. His smile faded when he reached the small door under the stairs, and he turned to solemnly meet the Professor's eyes.

"No," she whispered hoarsely, sucking in a deep breath as she realized. Dudley just nodded mutely and slid the deadbolt open.

* * *

The door swung open, and Minerva wasn't sure she was capable of coming any closer. An overpowering wave of blood and vomit and fear washed over her from within the tiny cupboard, making her feel ill herself, but she resolutely took a step forward- and then another- until she stood directly in front of the boy's prison. She wasn't the Head of the House of the Brave for nothing. Kneeling down, Minerva looked through the door, and almost collapsed in horror.

The boy inside looked like he belonged in a nightmare. All he wore was too-large trousers, and even those were covered in large blotches of blood, both old and new. His back was a mass of welts, some partially healed, some blackened or green-tinged from infection, many bleeding sluggishly and weeping pus. His leg lay at an odd angle, and she could count every one of his ribs, several of which were clearly broken. His skin seemed tightly stretched over his tiny body; she didn't doubt for a moment that her hand could encircle his thigh without difficulty, it was so thin. He had obviously gone without adequate nutrition for a long time, especially since she _knew_ no eleven-year-old should be that small. If she hadn't known better, she'd have thought him no older than eight years old! It was absolutely mind-boggling.

To be perfectly honest, Minerva wanted a few simple things, all at once. She wanted to wail her grief for the small, broken boy; she wanted to _destroy_ those monsters that had done this; she wanted to throttle Albus for leaving him here.

But most of all, she wanted to get him away. She wanted to rescue the little boy who she had once looked upon as a grandson, and that desire had to come first. She needed a Healer. _Is it safe to take him to St. Mungo's? No, the boy would be mobbed, he hasn't been seen by our world in years. Hogwarts is the only safe place. _And maybe she'd get that opportunity to castrate the Headmaster.

"Harry, child, are you awake?" Her voice shook slightly, and her breath caught in her throat as a tremor ran through the bloodied body. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. We'll get you out of here."

A soft keening sound escaped from the boy's throat, wrenching at Minerva's heart, as she slowly lifted him and held him close to her body. His breath rattled in his chest and he trembled in fear and pain, but he relaxed into her arms, too exhausted to fight.

"If you have any personal belongings you want to take with you, get them now."

Dudley shot up the stairs, reappearing moments later with his arms filled with slightly shabby clothes. "That's all," he whispered, and Minerva felt tears pricking her eyes; either they had nothing more personal or valuable than their worn clothes, or they simply couldn't bear to bring anything that could remind them of their time here. She wasn't sure which was sadder, so she silently vowed not to ask. Tightening her grip on Harry, who had slipped back into unconsciousness, she strode down the hall, not bothering to _Ennervate_ the Stunned woman on the floor, barely glancing back to ensure that Dudley was following.

Minerva would simply walk out, pass through the wards, and Apparate to the Hogwarts boundaries. No, no, that wouldn't do; she wasn't sure she could handle Apparating all three of them. Mustn't forget the Dursley boy. She'd have to Floo; if she remembered correctly, there was a Squib living in the area, who would surely be connected. So, she'd find her - she was almost certain it was that batty old lady who bred kneazles, the one Albus was so fond of - use her Floo, and go straight to the Infirmary. It was a simple plan. Not much of a plan at all, really, but that shouldn't matter.

It wouldn't have mattered at all if Vernon Dursley hadn't chosen that moment to waddle through the door.

* * *

_Bloody hell. We're screwed._

Dudley shivered and took an involuntary step back as his father froze, taking in the scene; his wife collapsed on the floor, a strange woman holding his bloodied nephew, and his son with an armful of clothes...and, of course, the happy-looking red tea set that was still steaming away on the coffee table. He seemed to swell slightly - no easy feat, considering how large he already was - and his meaty hands were clenched into fists.

"What the blazes is going on here?" His voice rose rapidly, and Dudley's eyes were drawn to the form of his cousin, who had gone pale and was whimpering and thrashing slightly, recognizing that dangerous flare of temper even from the depths of unconsciousness.

The Professor gave him such a look of cold fury that Dudley was immediately glad he wasn't in his father's place.

"_Mr._ Dursley." Her voice was low and threatening now. "I am going to ask you to step aside. I assure you, not doing so would be quite hazardous to your health." Okay, that was just _terrifying_; her eyes seemed to glow in hatred, even as she shifted the small body in her arms, cradling him tenderly to her chest. No one listening could have doubted her in that moment; she was an avenging angel, a lioness, pure power and grace and protection. Dudley instinctively edged closer to the safety she seemed to represent, watching warily as his father's face deepened to an unprecedented maroon color.

The man let out a bellow of rage and charged her; perhaps he thought her unable to carry out her threat without hurting the boy she carried, or perhaps he overestimated his own strength. Either way, it was incredibly bad judgment on his part.

Professor McGonnagal whipped out her wand again, shifting Harry in her arms so she could support him with one hand. With a single flick of her wrist and a word that was drowned out by Mr. Dursley's yelling, he changed, dropping to all fours as his voice became deeper and more guttural. He sprouted black and white fur, and moments later, all that stood before them was a large and very confused cow. It _moo_ed loudly, and Dudley's eyes bulged as he tried to restrain his laughter.

He watched with newfound respect as the woman put away her wand and glared severely at the cow, but he did have to ask...

"Ma'am? Why a cow?"

Her lips twitched, as if she were restraining a smile. "Well, I was originally going to make him a cockroach, but he really isn't worth the extra energy it would take to transfigure him into something that small," she explained matter-of-factly, before leading him out, explaining the basic theory of size changes in Transfiguration as they went.

* * *

When Harry awoke, the first thing he noticed was the distinct lack of pain. That in itself was unusual, but not entirely new; some days, after a particularly bad beating, he didn't register the pain for a little while. But it was so _bright_, much brighter than his cupboard ever was in the mornings, and that made him certain of one thing: he was dreaming.

With that decided, he forced his eyes open, squinting against the light. For some reason, he seemed to be dreaming about a hospital; at least, he _thought _it was a hospital, but he couldn't be sure, since he'd never really seen one. He didn't see the machines that were always in hospitals in the books he read, but that just seemed like further confirmation that it was all a dream. He tried to sit up, but his dream-body was too weak, so he gave up after a few moments.

Time passed. Harry couldn't really tell how long it had been; it could have been five minutes or five hours, and he wouldn't know the difference. _This is kind of a boring dream_, he mused drowsily, looking around at the room.

Finally, the door opened, and Dudley appeared, followed by a woman wearing an odd dress.

"Harry! You're awake!" Dream-Dudley rushed over to his bedside, and Harry smiled a bit.

"Hey, Duds," he managed to whisper, glancing up at the woman behind him. "Er, what...?"

The woman sat, looking down at him with a strangely sad expression. "Good morning, Mr. Potter," she said, watching him intently. "It's good to see you awake." Her voice was crisp and yet soft, with a hint of an accent; Harry felt instinctively that he could trust her, though she seemed like a woman who shouldn't be crossed.

Dudley's eyes shone as he leaned closer. "Harry, we're at a school! A _magic_ school!" He was almost grinning, and Harry felt a pang in his chest; he rarely saw his cousin that excited, which made him desperately wish it was real.

"Um, okay." He smiled uncomfortably, struggling to stay awake. He _liked_ this dream, where Dudley was happy and could talk openly about his theories of magic, and if he fell asleep again, who knew if he'd be able to finish it? "Duds, why aren't we at home?" It didn't really matter to him, but he wanted to talk, so that he couldn't fall asleep too quickly.

Unfortunately, at that moment, he let loose an enormous yawn, and the woman sitting next to the bed placed a hand on Dudley's shoulder. "Mr. Dursley, let's leave Mr. Potter to rest for a while. There will be plenty of time for questions once he's slept a bit."

"No!" They both stared at him; Harry shied away a bit at their combined looks. "I don't want to sleep," he whispered, his cheeks growing warm. "If I sleep, it'll go away."

Dudley was the first to stop looking confused. "Harry, we're not going anywhere, you'll see! We're really here. Once you get better, Professor McGonagall promised to take us to buy magic wands and everything!" He lowered his voice then, glancing warily at the woman - _Professor McGonagall, _Harry reminded himself, determined not to forget - before continuing on. "We don't have to go back home, Harry, they found out what was happening and took us away. They can't hurt you anymore."

Apparently the Professor heard, even though Dudley was speaking so that only the boys could hear, because understanding and sadness flitted across her face. She stood abruptly, gently guiding Dudley out of the room. Harry just laid there, struggling against the blackness lapping at his vision. _I guess I must be waking up,_ he thought hazily. _Funny, I almost feel more tired than I did before..._

* * *

Dudley felt more than a bit uncomfortable as he walked behind the Professor. He wasn't really surprised that Harry hadn't believed what was happening; despite his sweet, sometimes childish nature, he had never really believed in magic the way Dudley had. No, Harry insisted that there had to be a logical explanation for the crazy things that always happened around them, because, as he put it, 'if we were magic then they couldn't hurt us'. It was always painful when he said that in his matter-of-fact tone, often punctuated by gasps and hisses of pain as his cousin patched up his wounds.

Dudley, on the other hand, could readily accept the idea of magic. Maybe it was because the more inexplicable events had happened to him, like when he had levitated his mother's china up to the top shelf after dropping it, or when he turned Mrs. Figg's old cat green. Things that couldn't be rationalized away. Harry's magic had always been a bit subtler, and mostly focused on healing. So, he supposed, it made sense that the younger boy had convinced himself that he was dreaming. _Well, he's in for a bit of a shock when he wakes up again._

The silence as the two walked was starting to become oppressive; he'd stopped noticing the moving portraits and staircases and the ghosts floating around, and things had become distinctly uncomfortable between them. Finally, he spoke up.

"Ma'am? Where are we going?"

She jumped a bit, her head swiveling around to meet his eyes. "To the Headmaster's office, of course. We need to see about where you two will be staying until the start of term."

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the wait, everybody! My sister ended up in the hospital over the past few days, plus spending time on college research...plus, yeah, procrastination and writer's block...gave me a rather small amount of time to write. Thanks for putting up with me!


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